


A Battle Cry

by BreenieLee



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson, Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 11:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13501230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreenieLee/pseuds/BreenieLee
Summary: "Dear Evan Hansen. Today was not an awesome day, tomorrow isn't going to be better. You are an alien in this world. Always on the outside looking in. Scraping your fingernails against the glass, waiting, hoping for someone to finally see you. Someone to help you. But there's no one. Your fingers would sooner bleed than have someone even glance in your direction."Without going into the nitty gritty, this story takes place BEFORE everything that happened in the DEH musical. Before Evan even broke his arm, before all of that. This story is going to be focused on Connor and Evan's relationship before they hit rock bottom during the musical. Who knows, maybe Connor and Evan are exactly what eachother needs.





	A Battle Cry

“Dear Evan Hansen, you are going to have an amazing day today and here’s why: It’s finally the first day of summer, and you don’t have to go to school. You don’t have to deal with all of the people who just seem to ignore you anyway, and you definitely don’t have to worry about being embarrassed that you hair doesn’t look “cool” or your pants are a little too long or your shirt needs to be ironed again for the third time because the first two times didn’t get rid of the crease that you made when you folded it too tightly the first time you put it in your drawer . . . today you’re gonna feel normal. Or mostly normal. Hopefully. Today is your first day back working at Boomy’s Coffee Pot and you’re going to make the best tasting, espresso packed, best smelling coffee around, and you’re gonna make people smile with your amazing coffee making skills. You’re not gonna hear anyone talking about you behind your back because, quite frankly, you don’t know anybody there personally, and they won’t even realize how your hands are a little more sweaty than normal people’s, and they’re going to like your new haircut because it looks fresh and thus you look good. You’ll be okay today. Normal today. Embrace it!   
Sincerely, your best and truest friend, me.”  
My unintentional clammy hand hit the “print” button on my weird, out-of-date laptop, and I inhaled a shaky breath.   
It felt weird to wake up and not actually have to panic- er, I mean worry about school. Today sort-of felt like a fresh chapter, a new day in the life of Evan Hansen. I didn’t have to worry about homework, (though Dr. Sherman’s letters surely count), and it almost felt like a new breath of fresh air.   
A bunch of erratic knocks on my door made me jump out of my skin.   
“Evan? Honey! Are you excited? Pumped!? First day of Summer! First day of your epic, coffee-making skills! Woo!” My mom, a lovely blue-eyed, blonde-hair ray of sunshine practically skipped through my door. “I still remember two years ago when you first found out you got your job at the coffee shop; you were so happy and excited..it was amazing!” Her freshly painted lips framed her perfect, straight, white smile. Her hair practically danced along with her as she pranced over to my bedside table.   
“You doin’ okay on refills, hun?”  
They were just refilled three days ago.   
“Yeah, mom.” Though rare, I accidentally allowed a little bit of my frustration out in my response. She was always so worried about me, making sure my pills were always full, and there was always a scheduled appointment with Sherman even though I didn’t need to talk about every little thing that bothered me, even though it felt like Dr. Sherman was the only one I could talk to because I surely didn’t have any friends to talk to and mom always had work- I started to play with one of my shoelaces. Thankfully my mood didn’t affect my mom in the slightest.   
“Good… I was thinking tonight after your shift we could go out and share some good old-fashioned pizza as a celebration!”   
“Uh, mom I don’t really know…” What was there to celebrate anyway?  
“Oh yeah honey, it’ll be a blast! You could tell me all about how it goes and it will feel like the good ole’ days!”  
Mom leaned in and kissed my cheek, and as quick as she appeared, her job stole her away.  
“Okay now, I gotta go to work but remember: have fun!” She tapped her shirt pocket to emphasize the treasures inside. “I always have my phone on me, so feel free to text me with how things are going!”   
“Of course mom. See you later.” With a final flash of her smile, mom was gone.   
It’s not that I didn’t want to go to dinner with her-that would be the exact opposite actually. I would have loved to go but I knew every time I got really excited about anything, no-really anything, I’d always somehow end up disappointed.   
I used to get disappointed a lot actually, until I learned to stop getting super excited about things.   
My phone began to buzz in my pocket.  
“WORK!!!!” My phone’s screen glowed. I had scheduled an alarm in my phone (nifty, right?) last night to make sure it warned me to leave at the precise moment I had to walk out the door for work (just in case I had somehow lost track of time, or forgotten). I had to check it like, five times in a row just to make sure I had the time correct, that the volume was maxed out, and that I had an extra battery pack charging just in case that one died. I was prepared. Super prepped.   
I felt my heart race a little with excitement as I silenced my cell phone and practically skipped out of our apartment door.  
Boomy’s Coffee Pot wasn’t your normal run-of-the mill cafe. It hosted poetry slams every Wednesday night, open mic/karaoke jams on the weekends, and even the infamous ‘Crazy Cats’ Knitting Circle’ that the ladies at the local nursing home host every other Thursday afternoon. I honestly liked talking to them the most-there were always hilarious stories to be shared and they always seemed to remember me from the summer before and it always made me feel a little special inside because I felt like I mattered and somehow was worth remembering. (Dr. Sherman knows all about this of course.)  
All things considered, I also really and truly loved working someplace where I wasn’t known by anyone honestly. I didn’t have to deal with awkward small talk that I usually would at school, and I could literally be a fly on the wall, just a ghost who served over-priced (but super tasty) coffee.  
I never told Dr. Sherman or my mom this, but Boomy’s was actually one of the only places where I didn’t panic senselessly either. Grinding espresso, tamping the shots, brewing the perfect espresso and steaming the best, frothy milk ever always kept my mind busy in the freest way and I didn’t have to worry about anything.   
School, grocery stores, the bus even, always has people watching you, judging you, and most of the time literally takes my breath away and always makes my guts feel like they’re full of lead or cement.   
Boomy’s was one place where I felt free.  
This place oozed tranquility and serenity. The building itself was made back in the early fifties and started as an ice cream parlor, but soon metamorphosed into the cafe it is now. Standing tall on a street corner, Boomy’s walls were made of old and chipped brickwork, with open windows stringed with lights on the streetface.   
The door leading into the small retreat ‘dinged’ as I walked in, and I felt my senses become alive.  
Coffee and the subtle hint of baked pastries gifted my nose as I walked through the barrier. There was a high pitch screaming coming from the steaming machine that tickled my eardrums while the small and low voices of customers harmonized with the jazzy notes played from the overhead speakers.   
A few sets of eyes seemed to gravitate towards me however- There was a group of highschoolers seated at one of the tables by the condiment stand, and their chatting seemed to grow noticeably quieter as I passed by them and made my way toward the back room. I felt their eyes burn into the back of my head, and I tried to wipe as much sweat as I could off of my hands and on to my jeans. It would be totally gross shaking hands with the boss while my hands were practically dripping wet.   
Maybe I should go to the bathroom and dry my hands, and make sure my hair looked okay and slightly better than usual. Those guys were definitely looking at me, I wonder if my shirt was inside out, or my shoes were on the wrong feet even though they felt fine...maybe they were totally gossiping about me - what if they knew I saw a therapist? That’s weird, right? Not normal? But I never told th-  
“Evan Hansen! How are you doing today!?” Jack. Perfect. Just perfect. Jack was my boss, and at one point I thought to be a friend-until I realized that bosses aren’t genuinely nice to you to be your friend; they only are nice to make sure you’re happy and do your job well. Not to mention I didn’t have time to properly dry my hands or make sure I looked pristine. . .  
“H-hello! I-I’m doing good! Great, actually. Excited to be ba-”  
“That’s good, that’s good Evan. Why don’t you put your apron on and just hop right into it, yeah? I’m sure our other barista would like to go home for the day.”   
“Of c-course, sir.”   
As weird as it sounds, the apron that I wore last summer and the one before it, was still stashed in my locker- untouched and unseen.   
My black uniform practically felt like a second skin as I pulled the neck loop over my head and I tied the strings around my waist. The apron itself seemed to fit a little bigger than last summer, which was weird, but I was content nonetheless hiding behind my barista facade. I glanced down at my chalkboard name tag, still bearing a smudged, handwritten “Evan” label, and practically giggled.   
Hands, slightly less sweaty, and uniform in place, I took in a deep breath and allowed the coffee saturated air to fill my nose before making my way over to the counter.   
I felt more alive than I had in months. My muscle memory was in pristine condition, and I savored the feeling. Steaming milk, pulling espresso shots, baking scones and serving customers really made the day go by in a haze.   
“Normal Evan, you are normal.” As I ground more coffee beans for a fresh pot, I allowed myself a quiet whisper.   
“Talking to yourself again, freak?”   
A sudden, disembodied voice caused my body to react out of sheer panic, and thus caused the entire contents of the coffee filter to deface the once clean floor.   
“O-oh gosh sorry, sorry…” The words felt like lava spewing from my slightly numbed mouth. “I totally wasn’t, I mean, I’m not. . .” Breathe Evan, breathe!   
“I’m s-sorry sir, can I make you s-something?” My burning face at that moment contradicted the frozen blocks of ice my feet and hands were encased in. Stuck. I felt totally stuck.   
The strange voice chuckled. “I’m just fucking with you dude, relax.”   
“W-wha-” Words seemed to failed me. No matter how many quickened breaths I took in, I couldn’t slow them down as they came out.   
“Large black coffee whenever you can. No rush, dude.” My eyes were still hidden behind tangles of lashes, so by the time I was able to work up the courage to actually look, all I saw was the back of a tattered, grey sweatshirt, long, greasy brown hair, and a school messenger bag with a button adorned with a sassy middle finger.   
I honestly couldn’t remember the next few minutes perfectly. It was as if a grey haze had settled within the walls of Boomy’s Cafe, and an electric-charged fog had infected my brain.  
Though my fingers were numb, and I didn’t even know if I was breathing at that point, I held my cellphone sturdy in my hands as I created a new text.  
“Hey mom. not coming home until later tonight. picked up extra hours. reschedule pizza? Luv u. -E”  
What felt an eternity later, a response appeared.  
“K hon. have fun. proud of you. See you later gater!”  
How could I have told my mom that today was a disaster? Right when I started to feel normal, everything began to decay. My walls slowly started crumbling, the little castle I had built myself to hide in, collapsing.   
With trembling, frozen fingers I slowly made a new pot of dark roasted coffee, delivered a medium sized cup of joe to the awaiting customer, and walked out of the door.


End file.
